Twisted Perception
by BooLoo2
Summary: There are many Transformers universes. This is just another. Warning: All sorts of unpleasant material. AU, characters are different from originals. Better warnings inside. Slash! Smut!
1. Petty Games I

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**I don't have a beta, so there are probably some mistakes I didn't catch.**

**Summary**: There are many Transformers universes: SG, G1, Animated, Prime, etc. This is just another. Warning: All sorts of unpleasant material. AU, so characters are different from originals.

**Warning:** Sinister Autobots, Fraction mixing, AU, M for reasons, not an actual Transformer universe.

**AN:** This is NOT Transformers (Shattered Glass) universe. This is just taking the TF characters, altering their personalities a bit, and then creating an AU story with them. This is for my own dark amusement, so update regularity will depend on the reviewers.

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><p><strong>Twisted Perception<strong>

**Chapter One: Petty Games Part I**

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><p>The inventor tilted his helm inquisitively, watching with morbid satisfaction as a python squeezed the life from the small deer that had been put in its cage. His fins flashed in delight when an eye burst from its socket, bounding off the glass before thumping to the ground, only to be snatched up by the roving, mechanical claw looming over the organic creatures. With the flip of a switch, the ground beneath the predator and prey slipped open, sending them tumbling gracelessly to the heated coils beneath.<p>

With a hiss, the snake regurgitated its half swallowed meal and writhed in pain, its scales sizzling and peeling beautifully from its delicate flesh as it curled in on itself. The spilt intestine of the young deer boiled, vapor from its body fluids coating the glass in a fine layer of condensation, its mutilated carcass burning as its fur caught fire.

The inventor's optics widened in delight as he bent down lower to get a better look at the still struggling creature, now skinless, much like an organic earthworm. "Fascinating." He tapped on the glass to try to rouse the serpent's attention, failing as it finally ceased struggling and succumbed to death.

"Organics are such fragile creatures. Wouldn't you agree, Wheeljack?" The soft, metallic voice that spoke naught but a few yards beside him roused the inventor from his distant stare.

He tensed, knowing that becoming distracted had not been his wisest choice, but relaxed when he recognized the voice. His helm fins flashed twice in amusement at the warnings flashing across his central database programming, alerting him to the sudden rush of chemicals that had flushed into his systems from the fright.

Wheeljack turned from his now useless test subjects and faced the other with a disarming smile, or as close as one could get to smiling with a mask covering most of his face. It wasn't like he'd have to worry too much about Perceptor, since everyone knew just how much of a prude the other scientist was.

Wheeljack gave a pleasant laugh and put a hand on Perceptor's shoulder, patting it in a friendly enough manner. The red scientist merely removed the hand with the very tips of his fingers and preceded to wipe off any impurities the other might have left on him.

"Nice to know we're such great friends." Wheeljack laughed charmingly, fins flashing in glee, as the smile grew brighter in his optics. "Reminds me of the good old days."

"You mean when we had actual test subjects and not…" Perceptor cast a cold glance towards the unrecognizable organic corpses still sizzling on the heat coils and crossed his arms.

"Aw, Percy, don't be like that." Wheeljack hummed comfortingly, swaying a bit on his feet as he leaned towards the shorter scientist. "I find the organics rather intriguing. One would never hypothesize all the diverse chemical reactions their bodies have towards any one substance till they've observed it themselves." His arms began waving about, gesturing wildly as his excitement grew. "And they're copious and-"

Perceptor raised a hand in a gesture for silence. "As fascinating as they may be, I grow weary of the smell they emit every time you chose to be rid of one."

Wheeljack gave the other a blank stare, before an impish grin shone in his optics as he began looking around the room, taking deep intakes. He shrugged his shoulders exaggeratingly and put his hands on his hips to stare amusedly at the shorter bot.

Perceptor's optics narrowed warningly, and Wheeljack finally decided he'd pushed his colleague far enough. "Maybe you should get a mask too. Then we could be friends and twins!" Almost enough.

Perceptor growled silently, but Wheeljack still felt the vibrations of it through his helm fins and smiled pleasantly. Perceptor's face went blank again. "As much as my spark-"

Wheeljack gasped in mock horror and put his hands to his cheek plates. "You have a spark? Why was I not informed of this?"

Perceptor chose to ignore him. "-is enthralled by the shenanigans of a 'no-talent, academy flunky'," Wheeljack rolled his optics, but continued to smile at the other. "I require an actual cybertronian frame so that I may finish my work."

Wheeljack shuttered his optics and put a finger to his chin, as if contemplating what his fellow scientist had just said. The smaller bot frowned at the mocking gesture, feeling his patience quickly beginning to run out, but chose not to rise to the bait. It would only encourage the other.

"Why not ask Prime for one of the prisoners?" Wheeljack suggested happily. "I heard that the Aerialbots captured a whole seeker trine this morning while scouting the perimeter. They're still immaculate, you know. Jazz hasn't even gotten to them yet."

The microscope stared blankly at the other. "And Smokescreen? He's never been fond of permitting his captives escape from his cells before he's had his way with them."

Wheeljack didn't even pause. "You could compensate him. It's hard to find a bottom that's not loose. I'm sure he'd appreciate it."

Perceptor was not amused.

A brief silence settled over them, Perceptor staring coldly at Wheeljack and Wheeljack's helm fins flashing brightly in soundless laughter. But when that cold stare turned to a vaguely amused expression, Wheeljack felt his whole chassis suppress a shiver. Only two things amused the small scientist: Knowing something the other doesn't, or knowing he's about to get his way in the worst way possible.

Wheeljack got the disconcerting suspicion it was the latter.

"Ratchet always has an extra frame stored away in his office for when he wishes to occupy himself." At the Medic's name, the smile in Wheeljack's optics promptly faded and turned to a silent snarl, before he schooled his expression once more to soft placidity. "I'm sure you could compensate him." The inventor didn't even flinch at the jibe.

"I could." Wheeljack nodded agreeably, in that pleasant way he always did when dealing with others. "But what incentive would I have to do such a thing for _you_?" Despite his pleasant expression, he could not keep the bitterness completely from his tone.

Perceptor didn't hesitate in answering. "I'll give him the override code to the lab."

Wheeljack's optics narrowed, even as he fought to maintain control of his anger- and unfathomable fear. Perceptor, thoroughly pleased by the change in the other's demeanor, opted to once again maintain his usual impassive expression and stare blankly into the other's blazing optics.

"Do that…" Wheeljack warned darkly. "And you won't escape him either. You'll be leaving yourself just as susceptible to his '_tender loving care_' as me."

For any other bot, this would have been enough of a threat. No one, not even The Prime, wanted anything to do with the medic when it directly affected his or her own security. However, this was Perceptor, and if there was one thing everyone knew about Perceptor, it's that he can't be threatened into anything.

But Wheeljack was running out of options. This was not the first time Perceptor had used Wheeljack to get something from the medic.

Perceptor shuttered his optics once. "He doesn't want me, now does he?" His optics flickered once, knowingly. "Jackie."

A heavy tension settled over them, made all the heavier by the limited space of the lab. There was a moment somewhere between Perceptor turning away to work on another project and Wheeljack tilting his head once more in wonderment at the smaller bot, that Wheeljack's expression once again perked up to a beaming grin.

He really hated Perceptor, Wheeljack mused silently, helm fins flashing. He'd find a way to kill the microscope one-day, even if he had to blow half the Ark back to Cybertron to do it.

That was a promise.

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><p>It was interesting really, how much enjoyment his <em>significant other<em>- if he could be called that- got from watching the daily lives of their fellow Autobots. Not many could understand it- Pits, he couldn't understand it, but he wasn't complaining about his superior's odd quirk.

He himself also found great pleasure in watching another's life play out, chiefly Red Alert's, but he did it for sport, a hobby if you will, without purpose. For Red Alert however, the fire truck turned a glance over to his partner's back from where he was sprawled out across the floor, watching others was an obsession.

Not that he was complaining. There was something incredibly arousing in watching his partner observing the lives of the Ark residence, pulling switches to mess with bots he disliked when he wanted entertainment, or just scowling when he noticed something amiss, the sharp glow of the screen light playing off the shadows on Red Alerts face, giving his appearance a feral edge. It sent shivers down the fire truck's spinal cord.

"Inferno, get this to Prowl. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to learn of Wheeljack and Perceptor's latest…" Red Alert paused for a moment, thinking of the right word. "_Development_."

Inferno laughed full heartedly at that, sitting up and turning to face the smaller bot. "A little gossip bug aren't you?" He gave Red Alert a charmingly goofy grin. "Anything good this time around?"

Gossip was always fun to indulge in, so long as the gossip was not about you, or in Inferno's case, was only partly about you. Red Alert's little glitch had taught him that.

The smaller bot put his helm in his palm, elbow resting on the monitor consol. His optics bright from the steady exposure to the electrical fields humming off the monitor screens, his lips pulled into a tight line; focused. In a dark room such as the Security Director's domain, it had for an intimidation sight.

"I am not a gossip bug you dimwitted hypocrite, I'm upholding my part of our _agreement_." This interested Inferno, since he had never heard of this agreement between his partner and the Autobot's SIC, but knowing the other was not finished, held his silence. "And yes, it would seem Perceptor has persuaded Wheeljack to acquire a cybertronian frame from Ratchet."

All else was forgotten once that little piece of information got out. "No way." Now it was his turn to be the '_little gossip bug_', but who won't honestly when Wheeljack and Ratchet were concerned. "How'd he manage that?" This was something he had to hear.

Red Alert narrowed his optics as if it were the most obvious answer in the world, but indulged his _dimwitted_ partner anyway. "He threatened to give Ratchet their lab's access codes." He drawled disinterestedly.

Inferno shuttered his optics. "No way." He said stupidly, managing to pull off an expression of stupidity just as well. "He's glitched. Wouldn't that mean Ratchet could get to him as well?" That was a good, honest question, but Red Alert was not a tolerable bot by nature.

Once again, an irritable glare came from the Security Director. "Ratchet doesn't want Perceptor, now does he?" He said slowly, bitingly, laying on as much insult to the other's intelligence as he could in those few simple words. "Among other things." He whispered, too low for the larger bot to catch, tapping his fingers impatiently along his cheek.

"Wow, Perceptor _is_ as smart as they say." Inferno laughed, optics bright in amusement. Then a thought crossed his mind. "Can we watch?" He was positively gritty at the thought of watching Ratchet torment the inventor- it was one of the residents of the Ark's pastimes after all.

Red Alert gave him that look again, optics narrowing dangerously. "Of course you fool! Now get these files to Prowl before I lock you in the Rec room lone with Sunstreaker for the next cycle!"

Inferno thought on the matter for a breem, before rubbing the back of his helm sheepishly and turning a silly smile up at his superior. "Sorry about that. Got carried away there." He apologized lamely, reaching out for the files Red Alert was holding.

Red Alert quickly handed the paperwork over to the larger mech and huffed in exasperation, pointing towards the door before Inferno could get another word in. "Just..." Red Alert snarled bitterly, whole frame tense as his paranoia once again kicked in at the thought of the door to his little sanctuary being opened for any amount of time. "Go."

Inferno laughed inwardly, knowing that to show the full extent of his amusement towards his partner's paranoid glitch would have repercussions he'd prefer not to deal with, but still could not suppressed a pleased smirk. "Don't worry Red. I'll be back before you know it." He assured with an upbeat chuckle, waving off-handedly.

"You'd better- and no detours!" Red Alert commanded ominously, watching his partner's back with narrowed optics as he slipped thought the door. His fingers tapped once more on his cheek plates in contemplation, optics glowing eerily from within the dark room.

The larger bot nodded in understanding and began working away at the code panel, typing in the codes to reengage the monitor room's numerous locks. It usually took awhile since Red Alert had to have no less than thirty codes going at once to feel anything close to _safe_.

Just before the fire truck could slip down the hall after getting the codes in though, he stilled at the soft warning that followed just before the door slid shut. "If you leave me, I'll know. I see everything."

Inferno turned to the side to look back to the now closed door, optics shuttering slightly. Then a smirk spread across his face, shielded away from the camera overhead by the positioning of his frame. His whole frame was buzzing with excited static.

Oh yes, Inferno thought gleefully, face once again neutral as he continued down the hall, playing with his superior's suspicious nature was fun. It was fun to observe, fun to watch, but even better to prod at: his paranoid little officer.

Inferno smiled idiotically and tilted his helm in an ever-inquisitive manner, being sure that Red Alert would be able to see it clearly through the many cameras that were now focused solely on him. He even waved sheepishly at one of the bigger ones that turned to follow him down the hall.

He wondered if could find someone to _play_ with him this cycle. Red Alert would _love_ that.

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><p><strong>NA:<strong> So, what'd you think? Good? Bad? Continue? As you may have been able to tell, I love mind games. Just a heads up: I'm making this up as I go. Of course, I have a basic idea as to the plot and character personas, but everything is up for debate, so if you drop in a request to see a character in this AU, I may very well put them in. This is mainly just experimentation with characters and somewhere to create lolz that the original cast would not entertain due to their _virtuous_ personalities. LOL!

**Please review**, it makes me happy and encourages me to write faster…


	2. Petty Games II

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warning:** Unbetaed…

**AN:** More twisted lolz! Thank you **Starfire201 **for your review.

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><p><strong>Twisted Perception<strong>

**Chapter Two: Petty Games II**

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><p>Ratchet looked up from his work, glancing about the med bay with sharp optics, having suddenly gotten the distinct feeling that someone was watching him. His hands tightened none to pleasantly around the sensitive pump he was working on within his latest patient's chassis, causing the still sedated mech to grimace in pain. The ire within him rose at the prickling sensations on his back, turning a dark glower over towards the corner of the room where he knew his stalker was sitting silently, watching him.<p>

In the shadows, a flash of blue flicked towards him for a long moment, before it slipped out the entryway and disappeared into the empty hall. The medic scowled darkly, naturally volatile nature shining through, causing his face to scrunch up in irritation. It was the somebody's-going-to-die face, and that very glare flickered up towards the camera briefly, where no doubt Red Alert was watching him, before he snorted.

The unconscious mech he'd been working on groaned again in stasis lock, reacting to the increasingly painful pressure tightening ever further on his sensitive pump. A loud crack echoed through the mostly silent medbay as Ratchet bashed his wrench across the mech's helm hard enough to scrap the paint off and cause sparks to spray across the floor. The patient jerked once, than ceased moving.

Shaking his helm, the medic scowled once more at his motionless patient and put a hand to the side of his helm, glancing up at the camera warningly. : **Ratchet to Prime. The patient did not survive the pump transplant. **: The medic spared a look towards the gapping gash across the mech's helm, watching as the Energon within gushed onto the pristine floors. His optics narrowed at the sight of his medbay being sullied. : **He had a processor malfunction midway through the operation and now his fluids are staining my floor! Get someone down here to clean it up! **:

There was a long pause, Ratchet was impatiently tapping his fingers against the offlined mech's chassis the whole while, silently taking apart the other bot's body in his processor and organizing which of the other's parts would go where for future usage. It crossed his thoughts that he could preserve this frame as a bargaining token with Perceptor, but that thought was dashed quickly when he remembered his depleting inventory. Besides, he had two other frames still intact for such purposes.

: **Prime to Ratchet. A shame. He was a great warrior and an even greater friend, but his passing has ensured an end to his suffering. I just hope he had said his farewells to his loved ones before he underwent the operation.** : The Prime's gentle, yet powerful voice sigh regretfully through the comm. : **I also hope you will restrain from taking out your anger on your patients in the future. Until you have learned to do so, I will refuse to send in anyone else to clean the messes it causes.** : The Medic growled darkly at this, optics once again locking with the overhead camera, accusingly. : **I am sorry, but it is for the best. Prime out.** :

"For the best my aft." Ratchet muttered darkly, a snarling edge seeping through his tone, but low enough so that Red Alert would be unable to catch it. "Next time he enters this medbay I'll infect his fragging interface equipment with carbonic rust." And he'd do it too, just to watch the other squirm.

Maybe the Prime would even end up giving it to Elita 1 as well before he knew he was infected. The medic smirked briefly at the thought, imagining the look of betrayal that would pass over the femme's faceplates when next she looked up to her bond mate, before it was replaced by his usual scowl. If he did that though, he'd only have more problems to deal with- and he was not dumb enough to invoke the femme's wrath.

If anyone wanted to know why Shockwave spent all his time locked away in his tower back on Cybertron, she'd be why.

Irritable once again, though that was just his typical demeanor, he strode over towards his medical cabinets and rummaged through the contents until he found the bottle of preservative he'd been searching for; he needed to keep the parts viable after all.

"Well, it seems your temper hasn't improved much." An amused voice floated in from the medbay entryway as the doors close behind the figure, though there was a hint of noticeable strain in the cheerful tones.

With a jolt in his circuits and the pounding of his spark frighteningly intensified, Ratchet swirled around and leered dangerously at the newcomer, all thoughts of his previous endeavor lost at the sound of that all too familiar voice. His entire frame strained ominously as he took in the tense, but casual, posture of the other, noting absently the increase in spark rotations and straining of vents from the other. His own spark lurched painfully in his chassis at the sight of that face, freed from his mask for this very occasion.

They stared at each other in dead silence for the longest of moments, before Ratchet finally broke the standoff with a snort. "And you're still an annoying glitch, but I guess some things never change." He snapped irritably, pulling a disarmingly charming grin from the other, though the medic knew better than to buy into it.

How many times had he fallen for that smile in the past? He didn't even want to recall, But he knew- as he did the first time that smile turned to him from afar- that that smile would haunt him till deactivation. Wheeljack: his kind-smiled, placid-natured first friend, and, in the grand scheme of it all, the only bot he's ever loved. A love, he still cannot shake after all these vorns.

Wheeljack tilts his helm in a gesture of innocent curiosity, but it only drags a sneer from the medic. Those helm fins light up in amusement at the sight of the medic's unease, and against his better judgment, he _pushes_.

"Some things do." The inventor sighs with just the slightest hint of amusement, just enough for the medic to hear, but not enough to seem unreasonable, shrugging his shoulders in a gesture of helplessness. Ratchet's spark tightens painfully at the words, and the brief flash of pain that crosses his features draws forth a kind, _comforting_ smile from the inventor. "But it's okay. I'd never abandon you, because you are my dearest friend Ratchet, and I care for you de-"

"Cut the slag Wheeljack. What in the pits do you want now?" Ratchet growled, his optics taking on the feral edge as they roam the gray-framed bot before him with calculated precision. "Or are you just here on a personal visit?" Oh, how he would love that.

Wheeljack put a finger to his chin as if to think, optics wandering about the medbay, and Ratchet felt his already questionable patience wearing to his limits. Then the helm fins flashed twice and the inventor snapped his fingers as if he'd just remembered his purpose in coming. "Perceptor wants a frame for his experiments." The inventor said with a jolly laugh. "It would seem he is not so keen on using the organics of this planet as test subjects anymore than he has to."

Ratchet continued to glare, scrutinizing at the other, weighing out the details of importance, and if he noticed the briefest of shutters the other bot had under his scrutiny, he showed nothing. "What is he offering in return?"

Wheeljack managed to control the shutter that threatened to rip through his frame at the sound of the medbay doors locking behind him- no doubt Ratchet's doing- but having been expecting this outcome from the beginning, had managed to steel himself for this turn of events. Ratchet, after all, was not stupid, and they had been playing these games for a very, very long time. They knew the rules.

The gray bot briefly cast a glance up towards the camera, where he knew Red alert and Inferno would be watching, before turning his gaze back towards the medic. He smiled, because he knew it would hurt the other more than any words could, and rubbed the back of his helm in a seemingly sheepish manner.

The inventor was stalling the inevitable, and the medic knew this as surely as he knew Bluestreak was an annoying glitch, but so long as he got what he wanted in the end, Ratchet was willing to conjure up what little tolerance he could for the inventor's games. He'd been doing it for a long time.

"His appreciation of course." The inventor hummed happily, optics flashing, though not so much in amusement as from a growing dread.

Ratchet took a step towards the other, optics set into a knowing glare, focused, mouth pulled taunt as his entire frame gave one perceivable tremble of anticipation. Wheeljack took a step back, that smile never wavering, but the speeding up of his cooling fans gave him away to the medic. Ratchet was angry and hurt, torn between his rage at, and undying love for, the inventor, and Wheeljack knew that Ratchet knew that he knew what he did to the medic. After all, it had been Wheeljack who'd provoked it.

"Wheeljack." The medic hissed, sickly-sweet, and sinisterly low, as he slowly approached the other, a smile of his own in place. Wheeljack backed up, trying in vain to put some distance between them. "I have missed you. So fragging much you couldn't even begin to understand."

Wheeljack hesitated for a moment, but only a moment, before he managed to look up at the taller bot and smile once more. "Well, that makes two of us I guess." The inventor sighed, deciding to play stupid for as long as possible. "I mean, I have been busy lately and haven't-"

Hands slammed on the either side of Wheeljack's helm, effectively trapping him against the door he'd yet to back into. The loud crack of metal denting under the force of the enraged medic's hands startled him, but he merely backed into the wall, staring up into the other's face with a hurt expression, giving a spark-breaking smile. It only served to anger the other more, as he knew it would.

"Don't spew that slag at me, Wheeljack! You've been avoiding me for vorns!" Ratchet snarled dangerously, lowering himself to diminish what little height difference had been between them. His optics narrowed even further, lips pulled into a tight line. "What did he offer in return?" He repeated, threateningly, knowingly.

Wheeljack's expression faltered and a sneer slid across his lips before he could slide his mask back into place, hiding it. But Ratchet had already seen it, and they both knew this. "What do you think?" He snapped, unable to hide his tone, and even less able to hide his own rage, his helplessness.

Ratchet glowered darkly at the mask hiding the very face that has haunted him for so long, before looking the inventor right in the optic. "Retract your mask or I will remove it myself." He commanded quietly, deadly, like the calm before a storm, ready to snap into frenzy at any second, with the slightest shift in movement.

Wheeljack sneered silently from behind the mask, but managed to school his expression before complying, know that there was very little he could do if the medic hacked into his processor and forced the mask retraction overrides- painfully at that. And Ratchet, as Wheeljack had predicted, relaxed slightly at the sight of his ever-present smile, even going so far as to give a small smile of his own. Not that it would last, knowing Ratchet's temperament.

The medic's hand came up to Wheeljack's face, cupping the inventor's cheek in a mock gesture of tenderness. "Tell me, Wheeljack." The hand abruptly tightened its grip on his cheek plates, the fury back, and Wheeljack resisted the urge to yelp in pain, having known this was going to happen. Ratchet snarled, temper about to snap in the most violent of ways. "What the frag did he offer?"

Wheeljack's smile disappeared completely, replaced by a snarl of his own. He snorted, conjuring up as much courage as he could, even as he resigned to his fate. "One overload with me. As usual." He added bitterly, voice lowered.

Another shutter coursed through Wheeljack's frame as Ratchet's thumb began to sooth away the pain from his dented cheek, softly, knowing that he was getting what he wanted, but also wanting to make this as enjoyable as dubious consent can be for the inventor. He still loves Wheeljack after all, just- not the way he used to. Gone is the patient, affectionate, if at times, temperamental Ratchet of their academy days, taken away by the inquisitive whims of a curious gray bot with a kind smile and flashing helm fins. And in his place, the Ratchet of the present remained.

Ratchet placed his lips over the other's helm; inventing deeply, arms taking the other in an embrace of too long denied longing, grip tightening as the passion built up within him; desperate for touch. "I would give anything I possess for you." He whispered, knowing that despite the other's unwillingness in the matter, it would still get the other's engine revved enough to make it enjoyable.

"I know."

And just as Ratchet was preparing to lean forward and place a kiss upon those beautiful lips, the alarms went off.

"Fraggit! Primus glitching, slaggit faced, creation-of-a-"

"Oh my, Ratchet." Wheeljack chimed happily, helm fins flashing in unbridled amusement and that Primus forsaken smile back at full force, taunting the medic. "It seems we'll just have to wait to continue this conversation. Bye!" He beamed, just as the override codes forced the medbay doors to unlock and open, allowing the inventor to swiftly slip out of the medic's grasp. "See you around, Ratchet!"

Ratchet's fist collided with the wall, denting it inward, causing bright pink Energon to flow down from his broken ligaments in steady streams, dripped down the wall and pooling along the floor. The glare was back, but his expression was steady, reflecting nothing in the laxness of his lips and the set of his jaw. His shoulder twitched.

Someone…

He turned upward towards the camera, where it had turned none too discreetly to watch he and the inventor pushing up against the door. His optics were blazing in hatred.

Someone was going to die.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Another chapter up! I hope that all those reading this find it as amusing as myself, because I'm honestly not sure if it's actually being enjoyed or just taking up space. The story status shows that many people have been reading it, sometimes more than once, but only **Starfire201** has reviewed thus far, which I am grateful for. Thank you once again!

**Please review…**


	3. Healing Over

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warning:** Unbetaed…

**AN:** Well, I had said earlier that if you wanted to see certain characters in this story to give me a review telling me which ones, but since my friend made a request before anyone else has, here come the seekers! Thank you **Molten-Ashes** and **Freakygumdrop** for reviewing thus far. Please enjoy.

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><p><strong>Twisted Perception <strong>

**Chapter Three: Healing Over**

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><p>The screens flashed bright blue, casting a hazy glow over the darkened room, giving it an almost eerie presence. Not that the young seeker was concerned about the strange mood such lights tended to give the small security room, but he still let the though mill about in his processor for a bit, leaning back in his chair and bemoaning his boredom.<p>

Security duty was not, by any means, on his list of things he liked to do so early in the cycle, but he'd learned to live with it. Of course he'd whine and gripe every moment he got- just to get on his commander's nobs- but in the end, he'd always complete his duty, and he'd do it right. Not many ever got to see though, and when they did, there was always someone else directing him on how to do so. But he didn't mind.

The dark purple seeker put his hands behind his helm and stared blankly at the screens, briefly scanning over the vast expanse of white rock, which of course, held nothing but the occasional camera flicker or dust particle. But he kept on watching, lost in thoughts he only ever allowed when he was alone.

Immature, rowdy, prankster, troublemaker, he had come to terms with these titles long ago, accepted them and internalized them in such a way that even he, to some extent, believed them to be who he was. But even with the words spoken and the laughs laughed, he knew they were not true, not really. But he accepted them, and in turn, they defined him, made him free.

The door to the security room slid open softly, giving just the slightest screech in protest from vorns of neglect. Light flooded in abruptly, as did a calm voice. "We should really fix that." The entering bot mused softly, almost as if to himself.

The seated bot snorted, because that's what the others expected of him, and plopped his feet on the monitor board with a haughty smirk. "I wouldn't know about that TC. Last I checked you were in charge of such things, and me-" Dramatic pause for effect. "Well, I'm just the bot makin' your job that much harder." He waved his hand absently, chuckling. "Besides, it's like an early warning system. I'll be able to jump the bot 'for he gets me."

The blue colored seeker shook his head, wearily, but offered the other a small smile nonetheless. "Skywarp, we both know you don't have to be this way anymore." For a moment his voice trailed off, something deep and painful crossing his face before it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. "We are no longer Decepticons."

Skywarp tilted his helm, giving his trinemate a sideways look that could be taken as mocking, if his trinemates didn't know it was just a habit from having played the role for far too long that is. His lips twisted into a well-practiced grin. "I know that, but it's kinda nice knowing I have something to call my own." And it was true, because if Skywarp couldn't be in control of his life, couldn't control his fate, he could at least control what others thought of him. Because in war, that's the only thing one lonely soldier has control of.

Thundercracker nodded, resigned, before leaning against the now closed door, his optics never leaving the purple seeker. He too knew the pressures war put on one's integrity to self. In all honesty, it had- almost destroyed him.

How many times had be turned a blind eye on the pain of his fellow seekers, wore that Primus damned mask of indifference as his own trineleader was beaten down in front of him? He did not want to recall, he was not like Skywarp or Starscream. He could not completely remake himself in the name of survival, nor could he remain unchanged. Something had to give, and in the end, it was his ability to care that gave way.

After so long of hiding the pain and doubting his every action, his every word, he just stopped caring, couldn't even conjure up the effort to feel guilty about withdrawing from his trinemates. And that's what made him worse than any of his brethren, because he would neither push or pull, accept or deny, only watch on with cold optics and wait for matters to resolve themselves. At one point, he wouldn't even hold his trinemates in his arms and conform them anymore. He just- didn't care.

The sight of a hand being waved in his face startled Thundercracker from his silent musings, causing him to tense involuntarily. He only relaxed when a pair of bright purple optics got right up in his face, watching him with finely tuned curiosity, though they both knew what the blue flier had been thinking about. They were a trine after all, and now that their bond had been reopened after their defection from the Decepticon forces, there were no secrets between them.

A pair of arms slipped around him, and Thundercracker had to keep himself from flinching away at the touch. This was all still too new, too foreign for him after so long of keeping himself at a distance.

"It's okay TC." Skywarp comforted softly, voice softest it'd been since the beginning of the war, a small glimmer of what he'd once been shining through. "We still have each other, and that's all that matters. Just never shut us out again."

Thundercracker hesitated, but wrapped his arms around their trine's youngest and nodded silently, echoing his conviction over their bond. He doubted that even if he wanted to, he'd not be able to close himself off from his trinemates again. He…was just starting to learn how to care again, and now that it had managed to rear its head after so long of being oppressed, it wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Not while his spark was still pulsing within his chassis.

That was a promise.

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><p>Clawed fingers dug mercilessly into the thick railing beneath his hands, denting and slashing into the metal in a vicious display of forced restraint. His face battled between a sneer and a grimace, contorting into something resembling a pained scowl. His shoulders were rigid, much like the vast expanse of his white wings.<p>

The coneheads had enough sense to remain quite as they watched their leader glare up at the overhead screen with intense white optics, his posture locked up in such a way that they knew he was ready to strike out at anything that startled him from his focus. They had never been dumb, reckless and confrontational sure, but never stupid- they wouldn't still be functioning if they were.

The scene upon the display depicted the battle raging on between Autobots and Decepticons from various angles from the sky and ground, catching every settle detail and vooming in on various subjects of interest- no doubt the cassettes visual feeds; even with his defection, Starscream had not been willing to cut off all contacts with the new Second in Command of the Decepticons.

Not that they had been dreadfully close _friends_- if such a thing truly exists in war- but they had understood each other better than anyone else in their fraction. They believed in the Decepticon cause, believed in its truth and its message, it's army, before it began to warp into the hoard of mindless brutes it had become. Both had seen the change, understood the madness that had become ingrained into their leader's spark, but neither had been willing to leave, still loyal to the cause as they were.

There was a distinction between them though, a vastly different sense of loyalty that had come to define them in every aspect of their lives as Decepticons. While Soundwave's loyalty was, and possibly always would be, to Megatron, Starscream's loyalties lie in himself and his fellow seekers. It was a clashing concept.

That was the great divide between Starscream and Soundwave. One that had been made clear when Soundwave turned down Starscream's offer to deflect right along side him, though the Air commander still held some vague hope that Soundwave would one day reconsider. It had been Soundwave who had allowed them to slip through security unnoticed after all. They may not have been _friends_, but they understood each other and the evils of this war and despised it. Perhaps they were the only one's who ever truly would.

"_Bluestreak._" The cold, calculated voice that floated through the screen snapped Starscream from his wandering thoughts, bringing his full attention to the display overhead just as the visual of the Autobot's SIC came into view. Thrust hissed at the sight of the tactician, and Ramjet's engines screeched in rage. "_Shoot him, he's in the way._" Dirge shivered slightly at the sight of the blue Autobot shooting down his own comrade at his _master's_ command- yes, they rightfully say master because in truth that's what Prowl was, the Autobots' master, the figure behind the curtain pulling all the strings.

In a hesitant voice, one subdued by vorns of being trained in the art of perfect obedience towards his mentor and caretaker, wide, blue optics shining with the need to please and serve the one he admired most, the young bot spoke. "_How was that, Prowl sir? Do you have anyone else in the way you need me to get rid of for you because you know that I'd do anything for you because you are my most precious person and I just want to see you happy and don't want anything to displease you? What about Jazz? If you want I could shoot him he's just over that ridge and he's not looking this way yet and we could tell Prime that he was just another casualty and that there was nothing we could do and-_" Prowl merely raised a hand and the other was silent, crestfallen but obedient nonetheless.

Silence, or as silent as a battle field could get, but with the settle gesture of his master's hand as a signal, Bluestreak suddenly twisted towards the sky and shot, causing the video feed to cut off into crackling static. Fortunately, Starscream had seen it coming and alerted Soundwave of the incident before it even occurred. From what the seekers could see from another video feed on the wide screen, Lazerbeak had managed to swoop in and catch Buzzsaw before he could fall into the Autobot's awaiting grasps.

"_I'm so sorry, sir. I missed his spark chamber so he's still functional and they're out of range now so I can't get in another shot until they circle back around. I didn't mean to miss, I really didn't, but he swerved out of the way at the last second and it only managed to…"_ Prowl sent one cold glance over his shoulder, expressionless and calculating as though he were staring off into the distance, and the younger bot lowered his head in shame, not daring to meet his master's optics.

"That was close." Dirge said lightly, under his breath so that only his trinemates could hear- though Starscream's hearing allowed him to eavesdrop anyway- and Ramjet grunted in agreement.

The lead seeker glanced over and took in Ramjet's on edge posture, noting that the white jet would need extra training time that cycle so he could work off some of the built up aggression he'd been no doubt harboring due to their lack of action of late. Ramjet seemed to feel the stare, because he glanced up briefly and flicked his wings in understanding before taking hold of his trinemate's hands and dragging them out to the makeshift training field.

Hopefully, the defected Autobots would already be there and they'd all have one big free for all to release some tension. Starscream shook his head lightly at the thought, but knew that as long as the former Autobots and Decepticons were working together in _less than_ hostile terms, then there was hope for a future together. Luckily, they'd been actually very accepting of each other all things considered, so hopes for the future were high.

With all others gone from the command area, Starscream turned his attention once more to the battle displays flashing before him, watching with an ominous scowl as howls of pain and crackles of twisted delight echoed through the speakers. Something deep within his programming longed to be apart of that senseless violence, to be the one tearing into the armor of his former enemies and allies, screeching his pleasure as their Energon seeped into the deepest seams of his hands. He longed for it so much it hurt.

Starscream tensed as a particular scream pierced through the speakers, whole frame going ridged as memories long sense pass swirled within him, throwing his mind into a frenzy of chaos and regret, pain and a deeply rooted instinct to kill. He remembered the deaths that had fueled his energonlust, remembered the begging and the screaming, the feel of helpless victims struggling under his hands as he tore their very sparks from their chambers. His own spark began racing at the memory feeds.

Without focus or conscious direction, the air commander began to stumble away from the command center, grasping at the wall for support as lashes of guilt and regret ripped through his spark, followed closely by the call of long denied dark desires. They washed over him, dug deep into his plating and settled within every crevice, every wire of his being, calling him back to the sight of the battle, the wails of anguish. He could even smell it, the heavy metallic aroma the spilt Energon of so many must have made. He craved it.

"Help, please. I need-" He whispered, weakly, almost choking from the tightening in his throat, hand slipping across the wall, slicked by Energon he had not noticed, now dripping silently down his wrists. "I-" He looked down to his hand, seeing marks his claws had pierced through the palm of his hand.

He could not feel the pain, or the fear of bleeding out. He could only feel the Energon that streaked across his arm in bright, pink ribbons of scorching liquid, and the way it cooled as it slowly dripped along his wires. It crossed his mind just how good the sensations felt.

There was no clarity through pain, no means by which he could pull himself from the haze that had settled over his mind, the pull that lulled him into the very depths of insanity. The nothingness he recognized within stirred his need for destruction, disorder, roused it to the peak of obsession, and then the pain that would follow in the heat of battle would fan the flame of madness within him until it was all he could feel. He could not control himself when all was lost from him and all that remained were the sensations.

Starscream's vision faded, beginning to slur into a mass of color and sensation, the first stages of his control slipping. And just when he was beginning to lose himself to the swell of insanity bubbling within him, hands shot out and took him into a gentle embrace, grounding him from the sensations.

Starscream tensed, everything coming back into focus with a painful slap of reality as those arms tightened around him, pleadingly. The veil of haze lifted from his mind and all he could feel was the overwhelming regret and the gentle arms that held him even as he shook in the depths of his own despair. He returned the embrace, cautiously, looking up and feeling his world come crashing down with the truth of it all laid out before him.

"I'm so sorry." His hands came up to caress the mask covering the other's face, sliding his fingers delicately across the smooth metal, soothingly. "I will never leave you, never hurt you again. I promise." The hold on Starscream's frame tightened as the eyeless, mouthless, expressionless flier leaned into the touch, sensing, but not feeling, the slim fingers upon his mask. "Skyfire."

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> NO! Not Skyfire! I love him too much! All well, it had to be done. (Love ya Skyfire. 3)

**Please review…**


	4. Insanity's Inheritance

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warning:** Unbetaed…(And not much editing because I'm tired after writing two essays.)

**AN:** It's been too long since I last undated, but six AP classes plus physics can really suck up a person's time and energy. Thank you so much to **Molten-Ashes, Starfire201, Eikuu Hyo**, **Tonic Dragon**, and** Moonlight black rose** for reviewing. Please enjoy.

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><p><strong>Twisted Perception<strong>

**Chapter Four: Insanity's Inheritance**

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><p>The moon's surface was vast and open, lifeless in many regards, if not for the few bots wondering about the pale surface, much like the great expanses of desert they'd once called 'home'. Though, and Mirage would be one of the first to agree to this, Earth had never really been their home so much as a temporary living arrangement. Prime, it seemed, had other plans for the small organic planet.<p>

The former Autobot's hands tightened into fists, straining the neutral circuits in his knuckle plates that creaking ominously under the immense pressure. His lips pulled into an ill-restraint sneer at the thought of his former leader.

Optimus Prime.

He remembered. He remembered the speeches that preached freedom and peace, remembered the smiles that had once captivated him with their open honesty. If only back then he knew that honesty in one's beliefs did not necessarily mean truth. If only he'd known just how perverse the Prime had really been beneath it all. If only…

"Cut the slag, towers. Your moping and dwelling on misgivings is a waste of time." A gruff voice came from the former Autobot's left, before a red colored minibot plopped down next to him. "And irritating." The smaller bot beside the Mirage added after a brief pause, sending the taller bot an annoyed glare.

Mirage could only smile back, a fond sense of familiarity settling over him. "Evening Cliffjumper. Just thought I'd spend some time to myself." Upon seeing the minibot frown a little deeper at the statement, the blue bot promptly added. "But I would greatly enjoy your company for a while." His fingers twitched slightly in the moon dust, but he managed to hide it from the other.

Cliffjumper snorted, a very familiar and comforting sound to Mirage's audio receptors, and he immediately relaxed at the sound of it; so very familiar, yet so very different. It was followed by a long silence, relatively comfortable as it usually is between companions, though heavy with the knowledge of past regrets and lingering memories. It was a very familiar occurrence for them.

"The glitch doesn't disserve you, anyhow." Cliffjumper spoke up after an absent-minded kick to the white, chalk-like dust under his foot. "So just forget 'bout the fragger and move on. I'm sure the flybots would swap paint with you." Mirage had the decency to look abashed by the blatantly crude sexual slang, but he still felt his spark ache and flutter at the words nonetheless as he forced a _disapproving_ frown to his lips.

His fingers twitched again, harder.

He had _come to terms_ with losing Hound after the tracker had abandoned him to go 'become one with nature', but he'd already developed _feelings_ for a very different kind of bot by the time the tracker declared the young spy a waste of precious time he could be spending with the organics. The spy had simply seen the warning signs immediately after they'd landed on the planet Earth. (How _in_ love the tracker was with the organics was still up for debate on the Ark, though Mirage knew.)

Mirage sighed, before shaking his head lightly and cast a meaningful side-glance towards the other bot. "They are beautiful, it is true." He admitted as images of elegantly curved chassis and finely crafted wings crossed his processor. His hands tensed. "And willing I'm sure." He remembered the way the cone heads had looked at him when they'd first been made allies. "But…" Light blue optics flickered once before locking with Cliffjumper's with intensity the minibot had very rarely seen on the other- directed towards him.

Cliffjumper shivered lightly, feeling himself heat up at the intensity of the gaze fixed so firmly on him, but he bit back the feelings that threatened to shine through with a haughty huff, snorting and turning away before sneering bitterly. "But you're too much of a uptight prude." Not true to the spy's nature, Cliffjumper knew, but it had an intentional dark undertone that did not go unmissed.

He felt bad immediately after saying that, if the little voice in the back of his processor calling him a "sparkless piece of slag" for doing so was anything to go by, but he would not take it back. He had his pride- so much pride- and this was a towers bot, the very thing he'd been raised to despise since his activation. He was not ready for such a change, not yet. He needed more time to heal…and so did Mirage.

A cold feeling, like a blade piercing through his spark chamber, spread through Mirage's chassis like a virus. He fought to suppress a shiver. It was not anger at the smaller bot that made him clench his fists and turn his optics away, shoulders tense. It was not grief that made him feel so impossibly cold inside, those sharp, jittering pulses. It was not Cliffjumper that Mirage feared.

They were both damaged to the very cores of their sparks, far deeper than they'd ever be able to entirely heal, more pain then they'd ever be able to sooth. The spy knew this, and he knew that Cliffjumper knew this as well. They were not ready to love, to be loved in turn; they still had so much healing to do before they could ever consider the possibility. If they tried now, they'd destroy each other.

Mirage sighed in understanding and got up to leave, turning to Cliffjumper and giving him a small, poignant smile. "He is not ready." He turned away, but stopped and added softly so that the other could just barely hear. "We are not ready." And with that, he left.

It was not Cliffjumper Mirage feared, no, it was not that. It was losing control; falling back into the world of chaos and pain he'd worked so hard to escape. Even as he walked away, Mirage could not forget what he was capable of, what he had done in his moments of insanity, who he'd once been. He could not forget how easy it would be to hold the other down and how beautiful his cries of anguish would be under his…experienced touch. He feared that he'd almost become the very monster that'd nearly destroyed him.

He feared becoming another Jazz.

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><p>The rhythmic clicking of metal peds striking the empty hall floors echoed off the bare walls, filling the silence with awkward tension. A shadow pasted across each door, steady and cold, far colder than the harshest winter chill. It was ominous.<p>

The silence and the sharp clicks of steady footfalls were overshadowed by a young mech's voice speaking out in earnest. "Sir, please allow me to rid you of that mech before things get out of hand because you do not have to go through with any of this if you do not desire to do so, so please just give me the word and I will have him dead within the next earth hour. He is a very serious danger to you with his instability and his frequent tendencies to overstep the set boundaries you have established for us to follow and I do not want you to suffer the indignity of his atten-" A raised hand silenced the young sniper in an instant.

The tactician stopped with a small click, back straight and poster stiff as he turned a cold, calculating glance over his shoulder, casting that steady gaze towards the younger praxian. He remained motionless and said nothing, knowing that his silence held more sway over the young mech before him than even the Prime's command. The young sniper would kill and deactivate anyone for his master, at the flicker of a wrist, even the Prime himself if Prowl so wished it. Prowl knew this, and so he reminded silent, waiting for his silence to do the prompting.

Bluestreak bowed his helm, his expression suddenly aflame in shame. "I am sorry sir, really I am, I did not mean to offend you or cross any lines because I would never purposely try to insult you or make you angry or disobey you and I am sorry that I may have offended you because that's not what I was trying to do. I'm just so worried about you and you having to deal with that, that-" The hand, and the bot silenced once more.

Than that hand reached out towards the younger bot, slowly, steadily, and Bluestreak stilled, mesmerized by the hand that had for so long commanded him with a quick flick of his wrist or flat palm in gestured silence, frame tense in anticipation and fear. He would not mind being beaten, if that was what his master wanted, though the SIC had never before touched the blue mech, not once. Bluestreak would welcome the touch, any touch that would be bestowed upon him from his master.

The hand withdrew, as slowly as it had come. He never touched the younger mech; never let him any closer than arms distance, but this was the closest they'd ever been to actually connecting, field-to-field, plating-to-plating. Their electro fields had not even linked- it never did- but they had grazed and Bluestreak had felt it. He reveled in the newfound closeness to his master, optics shining brighter then they have in a long time.

"So sweet lil' babe blue, but ah'm 'fraid ya master has a date with meh ta'night." A smooth, ominous voice came from the shadows behind the two praxians, and Bluestreak's trigger finger found its mark before his processor had even registered the words spoken.

The mech chuckled darkly, stepping out from the shadows with a slow, confident stride bred from vorns of hunting prey at the peak of lethal efficiency. The mech tilted his helm in mock curiosity and licking his lips, raising his hands in a show of friendly intensions.

Neither Bluestreak nor Prowl bought it, both being well aware of just what sort of creature they were facing, a thing that could hardly be called a mech, even aboard the Ark. A thing said to have been sparked from the very pits itself, the creation of Unicron.

"Now, lets take a few moments ta work out our differences, lil' babe blue. What ya say?" Said in an unassuming voice, laced with not so pleasant intensions.

Bluestreak lowered his rifle, though his finger remained firmly over the trigger, praying, hoping that his master would give him the command to rid them both of the mech- the tainted sparked saboteur, Jazz. Bluestreak's whole frame tensed as the saboteur slandered ever closer to his master, the young sniper's optics never leaving Jazz even as he began to circle the older praxian, the predatory optics behind his visor roaming over the Prowl's frame with a ravenous leer.

The officer's gazes locked, and the madness felt within those of the saboteur sent a cold shudder down the young sniper's spinal cord, though his face was burning up with hatred, a black, venomous poison known as jealousy. Those sharp, sinister optics from behind the visor turned a glance towards the younger praxian, a glint of something feral shining clearly within the hidden polls of dark blue as the saboteur's hand came to rest lightly upon Prowl's plating, stroking in mock tenderness. Bluestreak's trigger finger itched.

"I'm sure ya heard 'bout da prisoners escapin'." He purred lowly to the motionless praxian, coming to rest his arm smugly across Prowl's shoulder as he leaned in close, so that they were face to face, his frame tense in anticipation. "Ta bad for Percy, hm. Ah heard he was set on gettin' a frame for his experiments." He leaned in ever closer to the tactician. "That's what he has Jackie bot 'round though, ah 'spose." A dark, foreboding laugh, sickening in its false cheeriness, but then again, knowing Jazz, it may not have been as forced as one would think. "But it'd seem our lil' engineer had other plans this evenin'."

Prowl did not flinch, did not move, remained perfectly still in that straight-backed posture so characteristic to his unyielding character, his expression neither that of boredom nor intimidation from being in such close proximity to such a dangerous mech. He neither spoke nor broke optic contact, knowing full well that to speak would only encourage the unstable mech further, a prospect that did not please him in the least. He had even dampened his electric field, to avoid intermingling with the others more than strictly necessary.

However, that effort would come to naught as the eager saboteur flared his own energy field, engulfing his superior officer's with its intensity, laden with desire and a finely crafted insanity, so very like Jazz. Still, Prowl remained unmoved, and though the briefest flicker of impatience crossed the saboteur's features, his stance remained firm, as did the grip he held on Prowl's shoulder plating.

Jazz raised his hand and Bluestreak's rifle followed, trained on the TIC, waiting for the opportunity to finally, finally destroy the nuisance that had dogged his and his master's steps for so long. His need to eliminate the other didn't settle any either when the black and white bot smirked knowingly and brought his hand forward, the loud clattering sound of metal hitting the floor following shortly after. Bluestreak's nose scrunched up at the sight that greeted him.

Energon was now spayed across the hall, dripping thickly from the ceiling where the deactivated frame had been stored in an air vent, and splattered upon the floor where the impact had forced it from it's owner's frame. The frame had been nearly torn in two, the unknown mech's face still contorted into a grimace of unfathomable agony, and knowing Jazz the expression had probably been there for quite some time before the mech mercifully died of Energon loss, if the burn marks from too-tight stasis cuffs around the mech's wrists and ankles were anything to go by.

Bluestreak growled lowly, denta straining with the effort to remain silent. He did not want his master anywhere near this monster.

The saboteur grinned deviously, knowing from the sudden glint of Prowl's optics that he had gotten the tactician's attention. He touched their cheek platings together softly, a cruel mimicry of a lover's touch, whispering in the praxian's audio receptors just loud enough to ensure the tactician's little pet heard every word. "But ya already knew that, didn't ya babe?"

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><p>The sounds of a young mech pleading for mercy ricocheted throughout the halls outside the medbay as a rather decent sized dent suddenly appeared upon its rapidly opening door, accompanied by the telltale crack of some unfortunate spark's helm being smashed in. A graying frame fell limply into the open doorway as Energon spurted from the hole where a wench was still lodged deeply inside the young bot's core processing unit.<p>

A glass shattering bellow ripped through the corridors, as a medical berth was thrown across the room. "Prowl, you fragging glitch!" And the camera hovering ever silently above the medbay zoomed in its lens, its controller watching with glee as the dramas of everyday life played out at his leisure.

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><p>Somewhere within the darkest depths of Ark, dark laugher echoed into the silence.<p>

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Another chapter down and I am feeling mighty pleased with myself. Once more, thank you all so much for the support. Every review is appreciated and welcomed, even those with creative criticism are cherished. (Creative criticism, meaning meant to help and make a story better not put people down to inflate one's own ego.)

Please review…


	5. Pain

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warning:** Unbetaed…

**AN:** Thank you **Starfire201**for reviewing, I hope you find this next chapter to your liking. Please enjoy.

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><p><strong>Twisted Perception<strong>

**Chapter Five: Pain**

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><p>Inferno tilted his head inquisitively, that same idiot grin plastered wide across his face as he rolled onto his back and purred enticingly towards the sulking gray bot pushed up against the wall to the far corner of the room. He shuttered his optics, and for the life of him could not stifle the laugh that arose at the sight of one of the Autobot's most fierce snipers whimpering pathetically in the corner of his room.<p>

It was times like these he wished he could send a video feed to Red Alert. Unfortunately, doing so would alert his lover/superior- or whatever they were to each other- to his location, which in the end would not work out in his favor. He relied on these rare areas of privacy to play his games with the security director and if Red Alert ever found out about these breeches in security the games would have to end. Inferno did not like that idea.

For a moment the young bot's blue optics flickered over towards the larger mech, before he allowed his lips to pull into a bitter scowl. "Can't you bother someone else, like Red Alert perhaps or even Sunstreaker because we both know that Red Alert would not be happy if he caught you alone with anyone in a room he did not have access to since you two are suppose to be together and Sunstreaker would happily participate in your games just to have someone to pin the his berth and to frag Red Alert off. I don't see why it always has to be me that you come to so that you can play your games with Red Alert and I very much do not enjoy your company in such matters, particularly not now since I am not feeling well and am in mood to deal with your need for-"

Inferno had sprawled himself out over the young sniper's berth in the suggestive position of having his long legs spread obscenely wide with his hands held cross above his head and had begun a rather enthusiastic show of pretending to have fallen into recharge not even halfway through Bluestreak's ranting. The younger bot, not amused by this childish behavior from Inferno, huffed indignantly at the large bot with a dark glare.

Inferno made an even bigger show of seemingly snapping out of recharge when the gunner cleared his vocals pointedly.

The goofy grin was back. "You done yet, Blue?" He hummed in false drowsiness, squirming enticingly over the berth in a parody of a stretch, his back struts arching off the berth and his chassis in full view for the young gunners leisure. Not that the gunner was looking anyway, but he could never be sure with Bluestreak. "I'm waiting for you to put that mouth to better uses." Bluestreak cringed at the thought and Inferno laughed impishly. "Or mine."

The gunner snorted, irritated. "I do not appreciate you trying to take advantage of my situation and would much appreciate it if you'd-"

"Come on, Blue. I'll even readjust my vocalizer to sound like our dear second in command." The fire truck smirked at the sudden stunned expression that ghosted over the younger bot's face, haunted by the notion. "Red an' me know all about Barricade." Bluestreak's intakes hitched at that, obviously uncomfortable with the topic.

Inferno snickered, memories of the young gunner painting over the con's armor with such tender care to resemble his dear, beloved Prowl's appearance and then disabling the con's vocalizer making him chuckle darkly. The gunner had spent day after day locked away in the cell with the unfortunate prisoner, stroking him, kissing him gently wherever he could reach as he held the con down, lost in his own little fantasy.

Of course Inferno would never forget those days. Red Alert had tied him to the monitor counsel in front of a camera and made the fire truck watch his own expressions twist with pleasure and pain on every screen of the monitoring room as he was brutally taken from behind. That had been because the security director had caught Inferno pleasuring himself to the live feed of Bluestreak forcibly having his way with Barricade.

Inferno still got pleasurable chills from the memory of it.

He had done it often, just to get his superior's energon boiling and his glitch sparking, taunting him with bittersweet words and long nights in the rooms just out of Red alert's sight. It had been some of the best frags of his life when the security director finally managed to corner him. Unfortunately, it all came to a stop when that slagging con managed to escape, having learned that the younger bot was just delusional enough to believe Barricade would stay beside him as his replacement Prowl if the con just played along.

Prowl had not taken to the prisoner's escape lightly and had made it known to the young mech. Bluestreak was still sore about it all, often getting upset at the vaguest mention of the incident. It had been one of the few times that Prowl had not even acknowledged Bluestreak's presence for any amount of time, and that in itself had near traumatized the sniper to the point of self-deactivation. Too bad the little gunner didn't know the only reason Prowl had been so livid about Barricade's escape was because he has lost another form of control over the young sniper that had been proving most effective and had expertly used the silent treatment to draw the young bot back under his control.

Inferno chuckled silently at the memory of Red Alert informing him of the little gunner's temporary 'fallout'- if it could be called that- with their SIC. They had been bursting into fits of laughter for orns after that, watching the young gunner mopping about and shooting at anyone who so much as sought to crack so much as a smirk to his face.

The fire truck watched Bluestreak with that same mirthful gaze he had sported during those times of Blue's fall from grace, still amused. He'd probably never get over the incident completely.

He decided to push. The young gunner had been silent for too long and he was getting bored. It was time to get the ball rolling and get what he wanted.

"So, where's Prowl? Doesn't he usually spend his evenings in his office?" A slow, knowing smirk curling at the corner of his lips, hidden expertly from years of practice on the other bot with an exasperated toss of his helm away from the smaller bot and the flinging of his massive arm across his optics. "Red said he didn't see him entering it today and threw a fit about security protocols. You know how he gets about bots being where he can't see them."

Inferno inwardly chuckled when he heard the other starting to stiffen, knowing Bluestreak was doing so by the gentle raddled of his armor plates and the harsh whine of his hydraulics coming to a standstill. Just a little more and the sniper would yield.

Time to put the last nail in the coffin.

He sighed, as though the next train of thought bothered him immensely. "Something about saboteurs, but I don't know. I was too busy watching Sideswipe pine after Ratchet again."

There was a quiet sob, strained and cracking, muffled by the hands and filled with several millennia of suppressed pain and unfulfilled desire twisted inward into itself like a blade. Inferno grinned madly at the sound, wide and triumphant, before replacing it with a seemingly confused expression, almost bordering stupidity in nature, ignorant.

He tilted his helm, watching the shivering bot. "Blue, you okay."

There was a loud despairing cry and the large bot was at the other's side in seconds, holding the breaking sniper close and running a soothing hand down the younger's back, shushing him gently and rocking them back and forth comfortingly, _a tender act of mercy_.

Slowly, those strokes became a little less innocent.

* * *

><p>Perceptor shuttered his optics, an expression of strained impassiveness tense across his face as he watched the cheeky inventor waltz into their shared lab with a mangled frame dragging in behind him, energon trailing thick lines across the floors, staining them the most unpleasant pink color. The microscope groaned internally, scrutinizing the much-battered fame even before the other scientist had a chance to present it to him, already displeased at the whole situation in general.<p>

Wheeljack was too happy, far too happy, and that meant the inventor would be more talkative, and by extension distracting. Not an appealing notion given that Perceptor had been hoping Wheeljack's less then desirable _reunion_ with the pit forsaken medic would dampen his spirits just enough so that he could at the least get the frame prepped before the inventor decided to start playing his mind games with him.

Not that Perceptor often fell for any of them, being the genius that he was, but the inventor was good at what he did and only seemed to be encouraged by his unyielding demeanor. It was rather bothersome and he already felt himself deflating at the thought of dealing with the other while he was obviously so upbeat. Not pleasing.

He was once more considering giving the lab codes to the medic, if only to wipe that pleased expression off the others face.

Even the frame displeased him to some degree, but so long as he actually had one he wasn't going to question its value outright. It was hard enough acquiring frames as it was- what with the recent near-extinction of the cybertronian race and all- without him refusing the ones that came through his lab door just because they were missing a few parts or had questionable mech fluids in places he prefer not think too much about.

Wheeljack beamed, his helm fins flashing in gleeful amusement. "I got the frame you wanted, and I didn't have to ask Ratchet for it either. Prowl is so considerate at times, you know." He laughed, optics dimming just slightly, betraying his less than friendly thoughts to one as perceptive as the rightly famed Perceptor.

Prowl considerate? Perceptor would have laughed at that thought, had he been any other bot- exempting Bluestreak- but he was not any other bot so he simply replied. "I am to believe you two have come to advantageous arrangements, correct?"

Wheeljack frowned at that, knowing that when it came to Perceptor everything said at to be taken either critically or with suspicion, and he had a sneaking suspicion it was the latter.

He just barely managed to keep his apprehensive expression hidden behind his mask as he hauled the gray frame up onto the lab table, grunting with the effort. "You could say that, though I'm sure Jazz got all the benefits out of this one."

Oh yes, Jazz. Perceptor inwardly cringed, being especially careful to keep his expression neutral at the sound of the saboteur's designation. He always seemed to be the kind of fellow who couldn't take no for an answer, but than again, Prowl wasn't one to yield so easily under pressure either. The scientist had to wonder just what the details of that were.

Wheeljack, understanding the inquisitively impassive look across the others face- how Perceptor ever managed to pull such an expression Wheeljack would probably never know- and feeling in the mood to gossip, decided to indulge the other. "Yep! Prowl gave him the lock codes the Soundwave's private quarters, lucky fragger." His helm fins were going crazy, oh so pleased at this tidbit of information.

It was not often he knew something before Perceptor did, and he was reveling in the thought.

Perceptor, not particularly caring for the other's excessive cheer, easily brushed it off with a low hum. He turned towards the gray, lifeless frame and begun to wipe away at some of the energon trails dripping across the broad chassis with a subspaced cloak, noting how the wrists and ankles had been rubbed raw of paint and the first layer of metal plating.

Defiantly Jazz's work, if the pained expression frozen onto the corpse's face was anything to go by.

There was silence for some time as the microscope tinkered about with the frame, that is until Wheeljack's helm panels begun to flash even brighter, to the point of being blinding, obviously trying to get the other's attention without getting the other's attention.

Knowing that he wouldn't be able to get any work done until he commented on such topics the inventor found most pleasing, Perceptor predicted. "One can assume Jazz shall be paying the Decepticon a visit sometime in the near future." He turned to resume his work. "It is to be expected."

Gotcha, Wheeljack inwardly cheered, his processor buzzing with all the possibilities now presented to him. "Yeah, but Starscream isn't going to be all too happy about Jazz having assess to Soundwave's quarters." He drawled knowingly, cracking a smirk when Perceptor's shoulder twitched ever so slightly at the mention of the seeker's name. "Especially if the rumors are true and those two were together for so long, even if Starscream is no longer on the planet."

Perceptor suppressed the urge to grimace at the inventor, his whole frame struggling to remain relaxed. Fragging no-talent, explosion-obsessed, glitch-infested, academy washout.

"But that again, the rumors probably don't whole much merit since Screamer's doing the deed with Skyfire now, wherever they may be. Probably deactivated though, since its been awhile since anyone's heard from them."

Perceptor hated him.

Why couldn't Wheeljack just die!

Wheeljack put a finger to his masked chin, taking up that pose so many had learned to loathe. Perceptor's hand twitched, though his expression remained cold and unmoved, feeling, more then seeing the wide grin that spread shamelessly across the other's face and settled firmly into his optics.

At last, Wheeljack spoke, bright and mirthful and oh so sinister. "Hey!" His optics brightening, fins flashing as though he had just made a new revelation. "Weren't you and Skyfire together before Optimus ordered his deactivation?"

Perceptor's optics locked with the inventor's, expression tight, knowing what was to come, waiting for it. Wheeljack was just like that.

He never stopped pushing.

The inventor shuttered his optics, and evidently, smiled. "Strange how both your mates left you." A soft chuckle, soft, but seeming to echo across the entirety of Perceptor's world. "For each other."

* * *

><p>Starscream traced a gentle hand down the side of the indistinct silver mask, slow and reverent, whispering soft words to his beloved, soft words of apology. "I'm sorry Skyfire, so sorry." He traced the edge of the mask, lost in painful memory. "Please forgive me."<p>

There was the slightest of shifts from the larger shuttle as he responded to the light touches, even deep in recharge pressing into the touch he could not feel but could sense. His hold around the smaller bot tightened comfortably, warm and inviting, seeking and giving comfort, even if Starscream knew he was not conscious to know he was doing so.

Starscream smiled, a true, genuine smile, one of the few he would ever allow himself, one he only allowed while he was alone with his mate. He took the shuttle's featureless face in both hands and touched his helm to where those soft lips had once been, optics shuttering closed, basking in the warmth of their intermingling energy fields.

"You are so good to me. Even after all I've done you never abandoned me." He stroked along the other's shoulders. "If peace is what you wish for, I will grant it, even if I have to travel across the universe to find it." He placed a lingering kiss over that mask, desperate with a longing that he knew would never be fulfilled, all because of his foolish pride. "I promise." The tears came, silent and warm.

As the seeker drifted into recharge, large, gentle fingers came up to stroke those tears away, knowing that they would be there. He could never recharge while tears were falling from those optics.

Skyfire's only regret: that he couldn't tell his beloved seeker that he had forgiven him for all misdeeds the first time he'd gazed into those beautiful red optics.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Yay, I'm done with yet another chapter! Inferno that was low, even for you! And Skyfire, such a romantic bot you are, I just wish I could cuddle you.

**Please review…**


	6. Pain II

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warning:** Unbetaed…(Also, this is an especially disturbing chapter, so those who are easily disturbed by '_not-yet-graphic_' dub/non-con, please stop reading after the first section. Thank you.)

**AN:** Thank you **Starfire201** and **fox****tamer****113**for reviewing.

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><p><strong>Twisted Perception<strong>

**Chapter Five: Pain II**

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><p>Blaster's wide shoulders tensed, pulling the wires in his neck taunt as his whole frame begun to vibrate with the strain of an ongoing resistance. The soft pings of his comm. alerting him to an approaching bot naught but a few doors away was the only sound that penetrated the thick silence of his audio receptors, sparking the hunger within him, the need. His spark revolted at the suppression.<p>

Silently, the red Autobot tucked his trembling hands against his heaving chassis and locked them there, his processor looping with the feedback of the comm. ping's rhythmic vibrations echoing hollowly against his audio receptors. He began to mutter to himself, a tune that gradually begun to gain strength as he stroked him own arms in comfort, pushing the memories of his past to the far reaches of his consciousness.

"Just one word, just one beat-" He sung slowly, pushing himself firmly to the foot of his berth where he'd collapsed to the floor naught but a few joors beforehand, tapping against the metal frame, finding solace in the metallic ring. "And Ah'll be ready to slip from reality. Ya know, ya know-"

His song was interrupted when soft rapping on the door broke the steady beat, forcing the highly sensitive audio sensors in his processing unit to break the connection prematurely. A deafeningly painful screech escaped the Autobot as he flung himself to the furthest end of the room, blabbing wildly, begging for things long past, hollow projections of a memory still haunting him. Something frizzed dangerously in his processor unit, but he could not feel it through the phantom sensations leaving cool caresses against his armor.

Slowly, cautiously, the door slid back to revel Mirage standing silently at the other side, back straight and baring an unfathomable expression as he gazed upon the writhing former Autobot attempting vainly to merge himself into the side of his berth, muttering incoherent pleas just under his breath. A glint of recognition flashed briefly through the spy's optics before he slowly approached the quivering mess of a bot, being sure not to make direct optic contact with Blaster.

So broken, so defenseless.

Mirage did not trust himself in this matter, could not bring himself to look the other in the optic. The red bot's pain was still too raw, too new even after cycles since the event's passing, and despite his efforts to suppress it, Mirage could feel that lingering tinge of dark desire flare up within himself at the sight of the other's open vulnerability. The predator within which Jazz had for so long nurtured was raging against his willpower, demanding satisfaction be taken from such easy prey while the opportunity presented itself.

Cliffjumper's constant refusal to his advances had only heightened the deadly snarl the feral creature locked away within his spark spat out at him, more demanding then it'd been for a very long time. Desperate now.

"M-Mirage." Something like recognition flittered across Blasters pained faceplates before he turned to cast a glance towards the other bot, mouth set into a thin, tight line. "Is he gone?" Then another flash of recognition, and the red bot visibly jumped as the realization hit him. He crawled away from the other, optics bright in horror. "Please, don't. No more. Ah want- want…"

Yes, Mirage's jaw clenched painfully, that's right. Mirage had to look away again, feeling disgusted with himself. What he had been, what he could still become- this is what he'd wanted for so long, what he'd always strived so hard for; to see once proud bots trembling beneath him, begging and submissive. The power he would have.

Like Jazz had always done.

Now that he was seeing it once more after so long of suppressing it all though, he could only feel the sickening throbbing of his self-loathing intermitting thickly with the sickeningly painful arousal the sight of pain brought him. There was no victory, no triumph, only a fine sense of wrongness that had been mistaken time and time again for discontent with his _catch_.

He felt dirty, very dirty.

"We are not among the Autobot ranks anymore, remember?" Mirage said lightly, optics dimmed and posture slumped in a strangely defeated slouch, so unlike his towers noble upbringing had dictated his bearing should be.

Yet despite his inner disgust, the noble could not banish the thoughts from his processors. It plagued and tempted him, pushing him closer and closer into the waiting grasp of madness, the need to conquer and destroy.

Those words seemed to do the trick though, because in the next instance Blaster had straightened himself and moved closer to the spy, just barely out of touching distance. So tempting. "Mirage, ah can still feel him. When the music goes quiet ah can still hear him laughin' and whispering." The red bot curled in on himself then, shying away from the other. His had reached to his chassis, hesitant as he gentle touched his spark chamber. "Ah can still hear them screaming for me."

Mirage understood, how could he not, but he also knew this was something Blaster would have to accept, as they all did. "You cannot have you're sound system, Blaster. You know why." He turned away then, fighting off the intense desire to hurt the other further, to sever that tentative trust starting to form between them.

How exquisite it would be to destroy the very bot that'd survived where all others had fallen, to know that the honor of the red bot's death would be his own. To know that just once he'd succeeded where Jazz had failed.

Wouldn't it be wonderful? Fulfilling?

A hand brushed softly against the noble's arm and the blue bot turned his dull, haunted optics towards the other with smooth fluidity, searching, waiting with that ever-present anticipation like any good predator. There was defiantly darkness there, darkness that Blaster could recognize immediately for what it was, that hunger which he had consumed his once friend so very long ago.

Without meaning to, the red Autobot begun to tremble again, drawing away from the other, understanding that sharp, expectant stare Mirage had trapped him with. He was painfully alone and utterly defenseless, a mere few feet from one of the most deadly saboteurs in existence, and under the darkening stare of that same spy. It was all so familiar, a trigger.

What happened to the jovial bot with his music too loud and his dancing too rowdy, who risked even Ratchet's temper just to get a thrill from late night drinking and a stroll about the base while cranking his speakers to inane decimals? What happened to the Blaster he use to be before that night when a bot he'd once called his friend finally ceased to recognize his face from the sea of helpless victims before him. Who had he become in these recent times?

The fear was real, his grief-laden processor finally seeming to realize that this was Mirage before him, the Mirage, Jazz's first student and all-time favorite. But he would not fight back. His experience with Jazz had taught him that he was powerless in this, that even had he possessed his weapons they would be little more then incentive for violence to a well-trained sabor.

Blaster curled in on himself, tighter than before, and waited. He waited for the feel of hands on his plating and the caress of a mouth over his throat before the pain that would came, as it always had. He waited for the crackling laugh and the taunting whispers. He waited for the screams that never came. The room was cast into silence, save the pained sobs that raked Blaster's frame.

Shaking and unable to stop the torrent of memories from assaulting his every thought, the red bot slowly lowered himself to the floor and curled into the fetal position, trying futilely to hide from it all, from life. He knew that Mirage had left him be, but he still could not snuff out the fear, could not stop shuddering with every image that flashed before his optics. Those dead, gray faces, so very small in his hands, still and lifeless.

He felt so broken, so useless, a protector who could not protect, a warrior whom had fallen at the hands of one of his own.

He lay that way for some time, watching the faint glow of an energon cube that had been set before him right before Mirage's disappearance. It was beautiful, so bright and soothing, but his weary spark could feel none of it. He saw no beauty in its gentle glow, only the eerie pink of cooling energon that had been splattered across tiny chassis', and he could not feel the warmth of it, for all that remained was the coldness where his cassettes had once been.

He was not the Blaster he'd once been- and he knew this as surely as he knew he would never recover completely from this. No, that Blaster had died right along side the graying frames of his cassettes. He was not Blaster, but they had the same designation.

"Just one word, just one beat- and I'll be ready to slip from reality."

* * *

><p>Soundwave's whole frame was rigid with shock and thinly hidden loathing; more so then it had ever been before as he watched the scene play out before him. He had sent his younger cassettes away at Ravage's request, leaving only the feline and Lazerbeak to bare witness to the horror playing out before them. Now Soundwave knew why his eldest had been so insistent that the others be sent away for this showing, and was thankful for his eldest's insightfulness.<p>

The recording itself had been found on his berth by Ravage after the cat bot had finished his patrol, and ever the intelligent bot that he was, Ravage had known the moment he'd found an Autobot crest upon it that no good could come of it. The time record showed that it was a few cycles old, but that did not lend any comfort to the cons.

On the screen, the Autobot's notorious TIC was tossing about the grayed frame of young Eject in much the same manner as a child with a doll, laughing maniacally and circling Blaster slowly, a grin spread wide across his face as he openly leered at his once friend's chassis. The red cassette player had curled his badly beaten frame protectively over his remaining minibot, desperately trying to shield the little one from the deranged saboteur.

All around them the mangled frames of Blaster's other cassettes were laying motionless within the brightly lit room, energon beginning to congeal on some of the frames in thick smears of bright, eerie pink. Steeljaw was the worst off though, his innards having been strung across the ceiling while the unfortunate feline was still screeching in pain, calling for his carrier. This torment had been going on for quite some time, for all of them, as punishment for Blaster having tried to end his cassettes' suffering the moment he'd been disarmed by Jazz.

Jazz would have none of it though. There was nothing Blaster could do to ease his minibots' suffering except to offer up his own frame as a decoy for Jazz's more enthusiastic thrashings. Jazz was simply too fast, too observant, too strong. He saw what Blaster was going to do before he could even move, and severely punished the minibots when Blaster would try to end their torture.

There was no escape and Blaster knew this. The thought of being helpless to protect his cassettes made the blue bot's tanks turn as he watched it all play out, the scene very much like a cat playing with its food.

On screen, the Saboteur begun to stroke at the dead cassette's helm almost lovingly, using those sharp claw tips to graze at the small mouth, turning bright optics towards the visibly sickened red cassette player as he nuzzled into the gray frame, lapping slowly at the energon dripping from the snapped neck. It looked almost like-

Soundwave noticeably tensed, his visor flashing as Jazz captured those long-dead lips into a fiery kiss, stroking along the small frame in his grasp, never once taking his optics off the red bot. Soundwave was sure he would be physically ill by the end of this recording if things continued to progress this way, and the moment Jazz begun to finger the interface panel of the smaller bot, Lazerbeak screeched in horror and bolted from the room without casting a single glance back.

Ravage was shaking. He knew that someday that could very well be them at the Autobot's mercy. And Jazz had already managed to break into their quarters. The thought sent chills down the cat's back strut.

He'd be damned before he led that monster touch Frenzy or Rumble in such a way.

Suddenly Jazz stopped his molesting of the gray frame and dropped the small bot in his hands carelessly, turning his lust-crazed stare towards the two remaining bots. He looked directly towards the small, trembling figure curled up beneath Blaster.

Soundwave's hand tightened into a fist upon the monitor as he watched Blaster desperately throw himself further over his cassette, face twisted into an expression of unprecedented dread as Jazz begun to close the gap between them. Soundwave fought back the partly processed energon that threatened to escape him as the TIC crotched over the red bot and begun to stroke his valve cover, whispering huskily in Blaster's audio receptors.

There was a scream as Jazz ripped the cover off Blaster's valve and spike equipment, shoving his fingers deep into the unprepared valve, chuckling as Rewind begun to sob loudly in fear, clinging on to his carrier's plating even as Jazz viciously fingered Blaster right above him. Rewind looked so terrified, so confused by the sudden aggression from a _friend_, and it made Soundwave sick to think that anyone, even someone as deranged as Jazz, would do this to their own comrade.

More whispering as Jazz removed his fingers from the exposed valve, bringing those fingers down to run across Rewind's side, smearing lubricants over the white frame as he leaned onto the red bot, pressing in closer to his audio receptors. Whatever Jazz had said in that moment must have been especially terrible, because suddenly Blaster jerked and begun to plead with Jazz, stroking at the TIC's plating and pressing himself in closer to the saboteur, offering himself in place of his cassette.

For a moment the TIC looked as though he was actually considering the other's offer- before he violently tore the red bot off Rewind and pinned the cassette to the floor, a gun held pointblank at Blaster's helm as he positioned himself over the wailing minibot. Rewind screamed when Jazz used a foot to pin him firmly to the ground and wiggled a claw tip under his interface panel, beginning to slowly ease it open. Blaster was pleading for the saboteur to take him instead and the small bot thrashed and sobbed under the larger bot, scratching frantically at his ped and arm.

Jazz all but beamed in delight at it all.

Ravage snarled and looked away, unable to watch the violation of a fellow cassette- especially one with a frame type so close to that of Frenzy or Rumble's. It hit too close to home and made him writhe inside in a way that was entirely too uncomfortable.

And just when they thought it couldn't get any worst, of course, with Jazz it did. Jazz did not rape Rewind. Oh no, that would be too boring and too simple, and Jazz very much dislikes boring things. It got much, much worse from that moment on.

And the worst part of it all was that one brief moment when Jazz looked up, directly into the camera lens, visor bright and Blaster writhing under him, and blew a kiss towards it.

Ravage bolted from the room in search of his brothers the moment Jazz had turned to pose for the camera, determined to never again let the other cassettes out of his sight. But in his rush he did not hear the final words that would haunt the Decepticon's new SIC till the day either he or the saboteur finally offlined, the softly whispered challenge.

"_Be seein' ya an' da family real' soon, 'Wave._"

Soundwave- purged.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Jazz you sick, sick creature! What is wrong with you! Oh yeah, I made you. Explains a lot actually. Anyway, I am slightly tempted to write a whole oneshot that describes the scene between Jazz and Blaster in detail- but than again, I'll probably just wait until a later chapter in this story to finish it off. Mostly I just want to keep people guessing as to just how twisted Jazz really is. Poor Blaster, I feel guilty about it now.

**Please review…**


	7. Pain III

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…**

**Warning:** Very unbetaed… _SMUT!_

**AN:** Oh, I feel so bad now. It's been so long since I undated this story despite having been updating other stories on the regular. Sadly, when I get to smut parts it takes me an inane amount of time to buckle down and write it, yet once I get started it's done in about an hour. Weird. I'm so sorry to all those who have been waiting patiently for the update. Here, I wrote you smut to make it better. (Pre-warning, this is my first ACTUAL smut scene that wasn't just a brief mentioning. So please forgive me if it is not up to your guy's standards.) Please enjoy!

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><p><strong>Twisted Perception<strong>

**Chapter Seven: Pain III**

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><p>Ramjet shuttered his optics and let the feeling of wholeness wash through him, nearly giving him the sensation of being overcharged with its sheer intensity. However, memories of events and words long passed flittered through his processor, each burning into him more painfully than that last, pushing him further and further into the darkness and away from the warmth of his trine bond. He internally squirmed against it, the cold wall that held him contained.<p>

Vivid visions of dented wings quivering in agony and plating buckling under his merciless iron grip assaulted him with wave after wave of regret and shame. He remembered his trinemates pleading with him for mercy, a mercy he would not give. He remembered the first spark of fear that would forever become part of his trinemates' very beings, the helplessness that they would come to internalize as their own and let consume them. He remembered how he'd savored their fear with zealous in those early vorns.

He had been so blind back then, so volatile, prepared to do anything to feel some sense of gratification, even at the cost of his trinemates. He had been young and willing to do anything to quench his thirst for acknowledgement and respect from those he'd for so long held in high regard: the Legendary Pit Gladiator, Megatron, and his Famed Air Commander, Starscream. He had not seen, had not understood, that he was merely destroying everything he'd ever needed in pursuit of something he'd never have.

He still doesn't have it.

Sometimes, when he is sure no one can see or hear, he curls in on himself and weeps in anguish, for the pain, for the misery, for the trust he no longer has from in his wingmates- or from himself. He weeps until his likeness is reflected within pools of coolant, smeared upon the floor like great lakes of mercury shining in the light of his optics against the darkened room, dull and distorted. And still he weeps bitter tears, long after the time of the moon's dark shadow's passing.

Even now, which his trinemates naught but a few feet from him and within easy reach, he feels isolated, afraid to touch, to seek comfort, in fear of the fright he will see in their expressions when he reaches out to them, but also unable to stay away in fear of the pain and darkness that will plague him so viciously in the absence of his wingmates. He is pulled in many directions, each equally as strong, but all equally as wrong as well. It is tearing him to pieces, and he has no escape from its crushing presence.

Sometimes he recalled that night when he'd found his trinemates missing, leaving naught but empty quarters in their wake, and the anger he had felt at being abandoned so readily. He had pursued them of course, driven on by his fury and his desperation to not be forgotten by the only stable presences to have ever entered his life, and attempted to force open the bond that had for so long been tightly shut.

They had denied him.

When he had found them his vents were swirling furiously in rage and stuttering from the force of his venting, armor shaking from suppressed wrath, clicking erratically along his weapon's holster and joints. They had been with their Air Commander, _Starscream_, and his trine working valiantly on moving the large shuttle, Skyfire, towards a swirling mass of dense light very much in the likeness of the spacebridge.

He had been too angry, too hurt then. He had acted without thought, making a beeline towards them with his weapons primed and head lowered in an offensive maneuver, ready to claim them back, even against their will. They were his past, his present, his support and the stable presence that kept him grounded, and he was losing them.

He had not expected them to throw open the bond at the last moment before impact.

The pain had been indescribable, the hurt and the torment from so many vorns of abuse by his own hands, the overwhelming, raw fear they held for him, more so than they'd ever felt for their own fraction leader, the one who could have them killed with a simple unfavorable flicker of his optics. He felt their terror and anger at his betrayal the first time he'd ever taken hold of Dirge's wing and snapped the appendage off in his first of many fits of sadistic rage. But most of all, he felt their grief for his fall from grace and the unspeakable humiliation they felt for not being strong enough to stop their own torment from the hands of the one they were suppose to look to for protection. And Ramjet felt this all, the vorns of misery and hurt, within the span of a mere spark pulse, a moment of perfect clarity of what he had become to them; monster.

Oh, how he had screamed, in pain, in fury, in shame, in confusion, in abandon. He had curled up on the ground before his trinemate's feet, unable to form coherent words as he babbled for forgiveness and mercy, tearing at the pain and filthiness that seared his spark from within its chamber, agony staining his face as it rooted into the organic muck beneath him.

It had been the first time in known history that a trine bond had been used as a direct weapon against the leader, and Ramjet had almost not survived the repercussions.

With a quiet groan, Ramjet rolled to his side, facing away from his trinemates as he remembered those shaking, hesitant hands that had lifted him from the mud after he'd thrashed himself into exhaustion. Remembered how he had shivered and shied away from their touch when at last they had believed him safe enough to approach. Remembered the pain that had lingered in his spark even as he was gently placed beside Skyfire. Remembered the gently whispered apology of his trinemates for what they had done and the irreversible damage it had caused to his spark.

It had been those gentle whispers that had undone him, and he had lain silent after that, bathing his trinemate's hands with silent tears.

"Ramjet." Dirge slurred tiredly when his spark recognized the sharp stab of pain in his spark, knowing instinctively that his trineleader was suffering under the memories of his past mistreatment of them. "Ramjet, hold me please. I want you to be close." He called out gently, knowing that nothing else would convince their anguished leader to touch and seek comfort from them unless they initiated it the first contact.

There was some shifting, and soon Dirge felt familiar arms wrap around him, warm and protective has it had been before the war, and so very right. But those arms were shaking ever so slightly, wound tight with the need to breakdown completely into a mass of self-loathing and at the same time give his undying attentions to his wingmate, to be the leader he should have always been, should have remained. But the moment another pair of hands wrapped firmly around Ramjet's waist and pulled both he and Dirge into a fierce embrace, Ramjet finally gave in, burying his face into Dirge's shoulder and weeping bitter apologies to the trinemates be believed he did not deserve.

They stayed that way through the night, bonds wide open and energy fields synchronized as it had always been meant to be, Dirge caressing Ramjet's face with slow, devoted caresses and placing light kisses on those quivering lips and Thrust slowly working out the tension in his trine leader's back and wings, whispering sweet things into his audio receptor, a soothing lullaby long forgotten since the war.

And as he drifted off into peaceful recharge for the first time in so many vorns, Ramjet wondered, with what little strength he possessed, how he'd ever forsaken this for power, this beautiful, beautiful thing called love.

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><p>Skywarp held the hand of the bot lying beside him with the same reverence he had once looked upon their former leader with, the overbearing authority that was Megatron, and placed a gentle kiss on the palm, relishing the soft moan that escaped Thundercracker's lips as he recharged unawares of his trinemate's attentions, a vision of temptation laid out for the purple seeker's feasting optics. The purple seeker's engines all but purred at the breathy sound, his need to reconnect with the other seeker growing with each pleasant lap of warmth that cascaded firmly into the deepest crevices of his spark and settled within its very core, sparking a surging desire that he had felt for no other after he'd met his bonded all those millennia ago.<p>

And why shouldn't he be able to take his mate as he pleased, when he pleased, how he pleased, just pounce on top of his beautiful trinemate and ravish him numb before he had even had a chance to rouse from recharge, as fast and brutal as he desired, relentlessly, without a thought as to the other's discomfort so long as he achieved overload at the end of it? Wasn't that what Skywarp was known for, his brutality and sadistic glee in all things perverse in nature, even the torture of his own sparkmate?

Yes, that is how the other Skywarp thought, Decepticon Skywarp, but that was also the Skywarp he could gradually feel crumbling away with each gentle stroke laid upon his chassis, with each smoldering gaze directed his way when he waited just a little longer to sate his raging lust in favor of provoking his mate's, was just a little bit more tender in his touches, just a little more loving with his kisses. The other Skywarp was slowly cracking under the once more caring touches of his mate, giving way to a new, softer Skywarp; not what he once was, never as he had been before the war, for such hopes of return are forever lost to them, but something just as good is being formed from the shell of Decepticon Skywarp, just as desirable.

And so the purple seeker stroked enticingly at the royal blue plating, nibbling and nipping at that twitching hand, watching with ever-growing fascination as his mate's face twisted into an expression of bliss with each touch. He purred his eagerness as those hazy amber optics slowly cycled on, revealing an exceptionally adorable Thundercracker to be a bit confused at the situation, but so very eager to continue with the pleasant caresses. His intakes nearly hitched when that much lavished hand began to trace a sensual path up the black arm, a feathery ghost of hidden sensor nobs.

With a clumsiness completely out of character for any seeker that betray just how groggy the other seeker's processor was at that moment, Thundercracker pulled his mate on top of him with a dull clank and trapped the rapidly heating frame between his quivering thighs, rubbing his knees and calves wantonly along the pelvic plating, creating sweet friction in secret places that had only recently been receiving the attention it so craved. His usually precise hands caressed randomly over the hard, unmoving frame above his, sneaking clever fingers into seams and giving casual messages on any plate his disoriented grip could reach, paying special care to the wings.

By Primus, it was slow and soft and so sloppy it was like they were going at it for the first time all over again, and despite his past preferences Skywarp couldn't help but think that this was perfection in the making.

The blue seeker moaned in bliss as the frame above him began to grind and push him farther into the berth, his still hazy optics trying, and failing, to focus on the determined face hovering above his as large hands soothed purposely other his plating, slipping under loose bits of armor and caressing the protoform beneath. He leaned up as much as he could to place messy, open-mouthed kisses all along the strong chin and full lips, surrendering to the pleasurable sensations immediately the moment those lips sought his own and thoroughly plundered into the warm depth of his mouth, not as hard as it had once been, but infinitely more passionate. His systems continued to warm quickly, wings twitching in want.

"Skywarp." He moaned out in need, mouth gaping open shamelessly in his pleasure intoxicated state, optics flickering and face scrunched up in bliss, hands rubbing frantically at the other's interface panel, running on pure instinct as he mock thrust his hips into the plating above him. "Want you. 'Warp. More."

That did it, of all the times they had interfaced in the Decepticons forces, all those millennia of viciously ravishing his mate until near stasis lock with as much force and enthusiasm as he could conjure just to get a reaction from the blue seeker, not once had Thundercracker called out for more, not since they'd begun to lose themselves to the war. It had only been over these last few months that Thundercracker had finally found his voice again in these moments of bliss, and after so long of wanting that acknowledgement, to know his mate still desired him in this way, Skywarp could not hold himself back when he heard that voice pleading for him.

He wanted to pleasure his mate in every way possible, his beautiful, beautiful Thundercracker. Still his, even after all that had happened, still his and only his.

Skywarp's codpiece slid back with a telltale click, his spike immediately pressurizing to its full height and twitching with a burning need, a pearl of precum shining at the tip. Thundercracker, having finally woken enough to focus his optics, groaned appreciatively at the sight, for once not dreading how painful such impressive interface equipment would be to have inside him. His hands reached down eagerly, wanting to touch and bring pleasure, but it was not to be so as a much more oriented hand easily took hold of his palm and began to place gentle licks along the fingers.

"'Warp." The blue seeker whined tiredly, fingers curling around the hand in his grasp, his port panel sliding back eagerly as he tried to sheath the spike into himself with fever, wanting the closeness, the knowledge that his mate could bring him such unbelievable satisfaction.

No luck, Skywarp didn't move, only stared down at him with that determined, desire-latent gaze, lips curled into a devious smirk and tongue lightly stoking over his upper lip even as his hands repeated sensual patterns along his plating. Skywarp, not Decepticon Skywarp, not post-war Skywarp, but this new Skywarp with his roguish smile, but tender, adoring hands: Thundercracker's Skywarp, his mate, his beloved.

Slowly at first, Skywarp leaned in close and begun to push himself into the tightness of his mate's port, savoring the feeling of those silky walls pulling on his spike, trying to draw him in faster, and he cursed his old, impulsive self for having never appreciated just how wonderful his mate had been in this, cursed how he'd overlooked these indescribable pleasures for something as mundane as a quick overload. The hips beneath him bucking against his steadying hands impatiently, the breathy moans and hitching intakes of his mate, those smoldering optics gazing intently into his own, demanding silently that he be pleasured. Perfect.

His thrusts were deep and powerful, slow and demanding, demanding not just his own pleasure, but that of his mate's, a demand on himself to bring his mate to overload on the force of his passion alone, so that when next Thundercracker thinks back to this night he will shiver in anticipation. His well built back arched with each drive forward, wings hitched high upon his back, putting everything he had behind each thrust, holding his mate down as the blue seeker writhed and spasmed beneath him in abandoned, unable to form rational thought or words. And still those relentless thrusts continued, hitting every sensory nob in the back of the constricting port, forcing incomprehensible screams of ecstasy from his lips.

"T- TC. Hm. You are so beautiful." Skywarp forced out, bracing himself over the other in a position of crumbling control, their finger intertwined as he held their hands on either side of his mate's helm. "I can't- hold back…TC. Love you."

"Don't hold back- any l-longer. Lov-e you."

With that Skywarp flew into frenzy, lifting his mate up by the hips to angle just so for maximum penetration, speeding up his thrusts and burying his face into Thundercracker's cockpit, just feeling the way their frames moved together, the joy of being wholly accepted into the other's embrace. Faster and faster the thrusting became, more raw, less controlled, needy and insistent, and the blue seeker only drove the rising madness on, thrusting his hips upward in time with his mates, caressing the helm upon his chassis despite the flashes of light bursting before his optics each time his sweet spot was struck; a true, willing surrender to his mate's desires.

They overloaded that way, Skywarp wrapped firmly in Thundercracker's embrace, and Thundercracker writhing helplessly under the warmth and protection of his mate. And they were sated, both of them, as they drifted off into recharge together, as one.

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><p>Down the halls of the Moon base, locked within the confines of his room, a red minibot roared in frustration. "Fragging seekers! Some of us are trying to get some recharge!"<p>

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>Smut…smut…smut. I did it. I actually made it past my angst kink and got some smut done! I feel very accomplished at this moment and now must go get a piece of chocolate to celebrate my first Transformer's smut. Tell me what you thought.

**Please review…**


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